The firelight danced between the thick tree trunks, casting swaying shadows across the faces of two children sitting opposite each other. The scent of roasting venison filled the night air, blending with the soft forest breeze and the familiar chorus of eastern crickets.
Beri Huxlen, a Wood Elf boy with tangled blond hair and eyes sharp like a starving wildcat, was rotating a wooden skewer over the fire. His gaze never left the meat, now turning golden brown and sizzling with juicy fat that would make any stomach file a formal complaint for neglect.
"Who are you? And why is a kid like you wandering in this forest?" he asked suddenly, never taking his eyes off the fire like a seasoned chef guarding his life's work.
Sylphia, sitting across from him with her knees hugged to her chest, gave a light sigh. The firelight flickered across her golden hair. She still looked like a kid, but her eyes carried the deadpan chill of someone who cared more about a fluttering blade of grass than the boy grilling meat in front of her.
"None of your business," she replied flatly.
Beri glanced at her but wasn't offended. "Name's Beri Huxlen of the Wood Elves," he said, tossing a few aromatic herbs onto the meat. The flames hissed in approval.
'Wood Elf?' Sylphia thought, her brow lifting slightly. 'Didn't Father mention that name before? Hmm… might be related. Gotta act cool, but I should gather info. Interrogate now, panic later.'
This time, she stared at him sharply. "Wood Elf? Do you know a place called Myrel Thalas?"
"That's my home," Beri replied casually. He pulled the skewer from the fire and blew on it with a calmness that suggested he'd done this every day of his eight-year-old life. Then, with practiced hands, he cut the roasted venison in half and tossed one half to Sylphia.
"For you. You're the one who froze it in the first place."
Sylphia caught it and gave a small smile. "Thanks."
'Heh. Gave me the juicy part. Not a total idiot after all,' she thought as she bit into it. The meat burned her tongue, but she ate it with silent dignity. This wasn't her first war against hot food.
Beri spoke again. "So… who are you? Why were you looking for us?"
Sylphia chewed slowly, already piecing together a properly dramatic backstory.
'Okay… something believable, tragic, and a little bit theatrical. The more tragic, the fewer questions they'll ask, right?'
After swallowing her last bite, she finally replied. "Verin. That's my name. I came from the capital, Whilvora. I was kidnapped by slave traders on the way to the Spirit Hall. Passed out, woke up in some backwater village."
She paused, then added with just the right mix of defiance and sorrow, "I escaped when one of them tried to… touch me. That's when I bonded with a spirit. Got lucky, I guess—"
Beri raised a hand to stop her and stood up. "Got it. You want to go home."
He glanced at her with a faint smile.
Sylphia nodded, a little stunned her Oscar-worthy monologue was cut short.
Without warning, Beri jumped up to a nearby tree branch and shouted, "Don't worry! This isn't our first rescue mission!" Then, like a squirrel that had overdosed on espresso, he bounded from tree to tree, vanishing into the dark.
"I'll find bedding for us! Please put out the fire and embers so we don't get eaten by forest beasts!"
'Seriously? He's bossing me around now?' Sylphia rolled her eyes, tossing the venison bone into the fire with a small grunt.
She sighed. "Yeah… at least he's doing something," she muttered, then summoned her spirit, Glacivale, who sent a cool wave of frost to extinguish the fire.
Minutes later, a rustle of leaves signaled Beri's return. He emerged from the shadows with a bundle of large leaves and dry twigs, hopping down like a forest creature raised by gravity-defying goats.
"I'm back," he said flatly and got to work arranging their makeshift beds. His hands moved with the efficiency of a kid who'd built too many forest mattresses in his short life.
Sylphia watched silently, hugging her knees again. She didn't say anything, but her eyes tracked every motion.
Beri patted one of the leafy piles. "This one's yours. Sleep. The forest doesn't babysit kids who stay up late."
Sylphia stood slowly and lay down. It wasn't exactly a luxury mattress, but better than a Previous confinement.
Beri took the other pile and lay down with his back to her. The night was quiet now, only broken by the whispering leaves and the occasional cricket with insomnia.
After a long pause, Beri's voice broke the silence.
"How old are you?"
"Six," Sylphia murmured.
"I'm eight." He rolled over slightly to look at the sky. "Two years older, so speak to me respectfully."
"…Oh."
A pause. The fire was truly out now, the last bit of warmth fading.
"What's your spirit's name?" he asked.
"Glacivale."
"Cool name."
Another pause. The breeze grew colder, like the forest was tucking them in with an icy blanket.
"Why are you in this forest?" Sylphia asked softly.
"I ran away."
"…Ran away?" She turned to look at him. "Why?"
"Because I was bored."
"…You're weird."
"…So are you."
Silence. But not the awkward kind. The sort of silence that quietly agreed, Yep. This is fine.
They both fell asleep to the sound of the wind and leaves.
The next morning, golden light spilled across Beri's face as he sat on a giant root, retying his worn-out shoes. The air was still cold, but the scent of wet earth and dew made the morning feel fresh.
Sylphia was still curled up on her leaf bed. Beri squinted at her, then casually tossed a small fruit at her forehead.
Thunk.
"Hnng…" Sylphia groaned, blinking awake. "Morning already?"
"It's been morning for a while. Come on, we've got ground to cover," Beri said, slinging his bow over his shoulder.
Sylphia sat up slowly. "Do you always wake up this early?"
"If I didn't, the forest spiders might turn me into breakfast," he said with a shrug. "Also, mornings are nice."
They packed quickly and resumed their trek. Beri led the way, occasionally climbing up to scout from the trees. Sylphia followed behind, silently observing the paths, the wind, and the animal tracks.
After a while, she asked, "Do you have a spirit?"
"Of course." Beri stopped and turned, show tattoos on his arms.
"Check this out."
Suddenly, small roots erupted from the ground, weaving together into a creature the size of a cat—its body a mesh of bark and leaves, glowing with a soft green light.
"His name's Kaltha," Beri said with pride. "He's connected to these tattoos. Not for decoration—they're mana paths that strengthen our bond. The more we fight together, the more the markings grow."
Sylphia watched Kaltha with that same calm, unamused expression—but her eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Cute. But he seems strong."
"Of course," Beri replied, petting Kaltha's leafy head. "He's my friend."
They continued traveling. The terrain grew harsher, but Beri always found the best route. When the path got tight, he cleared it with his short knife like a tiny wilderness butler.
By late afternoon, the air grew thick and damp. From the bushes came a deep, guttural growl that made the ground vibrate.
A Steel-Tusk Forest Boar burst from the undergrowth. Its body was massive, hide like dull metal, and two razor-sharp tusks curled upward like angry bananas. Its red eyes locked onto them with primal fury.
"Don't move," Beri whispered quickly.
Too late.
The beast had seen them.
Beri drew his bow without hesitation, leapt sideways, and fired an arrow straight toward the boar's eye. It hit—but only to bounce off with an unimpressed plink. The boar blinked. Then it snorted, as if insulted.
"Kaltha!"
Roots shot up from the ground, wrapping around the boar's hind legs. It roared and thrashed, ripping up soil and flinging pebbles like an angry farmer evicting weeds.
Sylphia raised her hand. "Glacivale!"
A thin sheet of ice shimmered into existence in the air, then sharpened into a deadly spike. With a flick, she hurled it at the boar's front leg. The beast slipped—elegantly, if one could call a half-ton creature face-planting elegant—and fell to its side.
Beri didn't waste the opening. He sprang from a tree branch and loosed three arrows in quick succession, the last of which lodged itself right in the beast's open throat.
The boar collapsed with a thunderous thud, sending a light tremor through the forest floor.
For a moment, the two stood in silence, catching their breath.
"...I thought your spirit was that bow," Sylphia said flatly, not even bothering to hide her suspicion.
Beri chuckled. "Everyone thinks that. But nope."
"You're way too good at it."
He shrugged. "Every Wood Elf is trained with a bow. A few lucky ones get a spirit that is a bow. Most don't. So they make sure we all learn how to use one like our lives depend on it. Which... they usually do. No pressure."
Sylphia nodded slowly. Somehow, she wasn't surprised.
The sky had shifted to a blend of violet and orange when they finally reached the edge of the forest. The wild tangle of trees gave way to a carefully cultivated line of tall, elegant trunks. It felt as though the forest had gotten a haircut and finally started using conditioner.
Ahead stood Myrel Thalas—the eastern Wood Elves' heartland, a hidden village nestled within the forest, built in harmony with nature.
Its entrance wasn't made of stone or steel, but rather a pair of massive trees, carved with ancient sigils. Their trunks arched and fused together overhead to form a natural gate, from which hung a pale green lantern glowing gently with bioluminescent moss. Dangling roots swayed like a curtain, rustling softly in the evening breeze.
Two guards stood at the entrance—tall, lean, and elegant, with pale skin, sharp ears, and piercing black eyes. Their armor was a mix of hardened dry leaves, thin leather, and vines wrapped around their limbs in a pattern that was equal parts aesthetic and practical. If elven fashion had a survivalist collection, these two were the poster models.
Tattoo-like marks of roots covered their arms, spreading from shoulder to fingertips—visible symbols of their bond with their spirits. One had branching lines like twigs in winter; the other bore a spiral of tangled roots, like a very angry turnip.
Upon seeing Beri approach, one of them smiled faintly.
"Welcome back, Young Master Beri."
The other added, "The Lady is expecting you."
Beri sighed and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah, I figured."
As they moved to open the path, one of them glanced at Sylphia.
"And who's the little one, Young Master?"
Beri glanced sideways at Sylphia—Or what he knows as Verin—standing silently by his side.
"Her name's Verin. A friend. And someone who needs help getting home."
The two guards exchanged a brief look—probably the Elven equivalent of a dramatic gasp—and wisely decided not to ask further questions. They gave a respectful nod, then tapped a spirit-carved staff against the root curtain. The roots parted slowly, like shy dancers on a leafy stage, revealing the way inside.
"Please, enter. Young Master Beri. Young Lady Verin."
As the two stepped into Myrel Thalas, a world vastly different from the wild woods outside greeted them.
Homes weren't built so much as grown. Towering trees had been shaped into dwellings, with spiraling stairways hugging their trunks. Some houses hung between the trees like giant nests, connected by flexible, glowing rope bridges. Others wrapped around trunks in rings, like nature's idea of a luxury apartment complex.
Soft lights glowed from clusters of luminous pods suspended from branches—tiny, floating lanterns that pulsed gently like fireflies on a yoga retreat.
The residents—other Wood Elves—moved gracefully, their steps so light they barely rustled the leaves. Their clothing was organic yet elegant: layered cloaks of leaf and bark, tailored just enough to say forest chic without trying too hard. Some were barefoot, while others wore supple bark-weave sandals—presumably for fancy occasions, like weddings or extremely polite duels.
What stood out most were their spirit tattoos. Every elf had one, and no two were the same. Some were delicate spirals on wrists; others sprawled from the base of the neck down to the ankles. Their hues ranged from deep green to reddish-brown, depending on the spirit's nature and their bond.
Children dashed across hanging bridges, their laughter ringing like wind chimes. Adults stood beneath the lanterns, chatting softly—probably about weather patterns, leaf politics, or which tree had the best acoustics.
And then...
Sylphia slowed her steps, her eyes wide with quiet awe as she took in the sight.
"This is…?" she whispered.
Beri gave a small nod, not looking back. "Yep. Myrel Thalas."
Just as the moment reached peak elegance and enchantment… a sudden SPLAT echoed in the distance.
A boy had slipped while balancing on a moss-slick vine and was now dangling upside-down, legs caught in a loop. His two friends pointed and laughed, one of them munching a glowing fruit like it was popcorn.
Nearby, an old elf was scolding a squirrel with terrifying intensity. The squirrel—perched on the rim of a rainwater basin—looked both deeply ashamed and ready to do it again.
At the base of a tree, a small group of younger elves were trying to teach a very serious-looking owl to dance in rhythm to a flute tune. It wasn't going well. The owl stared blankly, completely unimpressed by the beat.
Sylphia blinked. "Your people are… a little different from what I imagined."
Beri smiled. "Oh, this? This is a calm evening," then covered his face.